


Green-Eyed

by librariankiss, thisguybruce



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 19:02:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13596396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librariankiss/pseuds/librariankiss, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisguybruce/pseuds/thisguybruce
Summary: For Anonymous: "Very drunk Loki at one of Sakaar's parties. Maybe somebody flirts with him and the Grandmaster gets jealous."





	Green-Eyed

**Author's Note:**

> Afraid the turnaround on this one was longer than expected, but so was the fic. I hope you enjoy!

Loki blinked. He blinked again. He tried it several more times, hoping to steady his vision.

No use.

It wasn’t even that he couldn’t see. It was more that—he stumbled, grabbing the back of the nearest chair instinctively. It was more that his mind, thudding and fuzzy and filled with voices and music and whatever that  _ smell  _ was, couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.

Loki had long ago pledged to avoid getting drunk. It wasn’t because he found it to be distasteful or immoral—indeed, he’d admit to being fond of any number of alcoholic drinks. The problem was that, historically, if Loki didn’t remain sober then there was no one to stop Thor and Fandral from stumbling two miles away from where they were supposed to be, falling through a portal, and receiving a stern lecture and punishment from Heimdall that led to the formation of the We Hate Heimdall Club, of which Loki was technically the treasurer. 

But Thor and Fandral weren’t here.

Thor likely imagined that he knew the depths of Loki’s motives and behavior, having been one of the people to combat him back on Earth, but the truth was that Thor had no idea. It didn’t matter how jaded Thor thought himself. Loki was still his little brother. And Thor would certainly never have predicted, or planned for, the Grandmaster.

Yes, the Grandmaster did seem … fond of Loki. But—and it was important to have some honesty about oneself, no?—it was also true that no one who gained such favor in the way that Loki had was likely to last long if they didn’t, uh … if they didn’t please.

And it so happened, at the first party to which he took Loki as an accessory, the Grandmaster wanted to see Loki drunk. It was with, “Come on, gorgeous, have a little fun for me, will you?” that he slipped the first drink into Loki’s hand, and with each drink that followed the Grandmaster dropped a word from his run-on sentences until drinks were  _ appearing  _ in Loki’s hand and he couldn’t see where they were coming from. 

And the next morning, when Loki woke up with his head on the Grandmaster’s lap to the sound of the Grandmaster chuckling, he supposed that he must have amused the man sufficiently. Oh, and that was, of course, only supplemented by Loki turning out the contents of his stomach on the Grandmaster’s shoes. 

It seemed that tonight might end in much the same way. Except … Hm. The Grandmaster had asked—had  _ made  _ Loki join him, but he stayed with him for mere minutes before a disgruntled Topaz had called away his attention. And so, after pressing his hand against Loki’s chest and saying, “Don’t you go anywhere, gorgeous,” he departed. And Loki hadn’t seen him since. He had, however, still accepted every drink given to him. And he hadn’t left. He knew the penalty for disobedience. He had on one occasion seen a man melted for being late. 

This all left Loki drunk, alone, struggling to stand and definitely unable to defend himself. But this would always be the way, no? It could be the Grandmaster, it could be anyone else. It didn’t matter where he was. Loki would always,  _ always _ , be the source of somebody’s amusement. He was—Fuck. 

Loki’s head spun as something hit the floor with a  _ smash _ across the crowded room. He closed his eyes, tightening his grip on the back of the chair and trying to steady himself. 

“Hey, there. Are you alright?”

A voice, barely audible over the buzzing in Loki’s skull, sounded from somewhere nearby. Loki took a moment, and a steadying breath, before opening his eyes and looking up.

Beside him stood a tall, muscular man. Hands behind his back. Smirk on his face. A typical Sakaaran patchwork of strange dress and loud demeanor. Loki had the feeling that he recognized the man from another of the Grandmaster’s desperately lavish parties, but his mind had moved to a crawl in this din and he couldn’t hope to properly place him. 

The man placed a hand on Loki’s shoulder and turned Loki towards him. In that moment, in a show of awful vulnerability, Loki was too dizzy to stop him. Was there something in the drinks other than alcohol? He dreaded to think. 

“You poor thing.” It was said with a purr that was at odds with the man’s deep tone. “Have you been left here all by yourself?”

Loki said nothing. What was he supposed to say? 

“You would be Loki, right?” the man said. “Come on, Loki. You can talk to me. And forgive me, but you don’t look like you’re having too much fun.” 

Loki tried in vain to summon any reasonable response, but he found that his dizziness renewed with every change in beat of this ridic—he coughed, tumbling forward into the man’s grip—of this ridiculous music. 

“I don’t…” he managed, but that was all. By Asgard, but he felt a fool. Would  _ this _ serve as amusement enough to the tyrant who brought him to this party?

The man—who, for someone of his stature, had oddly skeletal hands—straightened Loki and brushed off his shoulders. “Now, are you sure you’re alright?” 

“I’m fine,” said Loki. He scanned the room, narrowing his eyes to try and make sense of the blurred crowd. There was still no sign of the Grandmaster—just his guards. Despite being the reason that Loki was here, he seemed to have much better things with which to occupy himself.

“If you insist.” And as he said it, the man’s hand returned to Loki’s shoulder. “But if you ask me, you look like you need some looking after.” He cocked his head, eyes glistening with that smirk of his. “ _ And  _ like you deserve it.” 

Ah. So that was this man’s game. What a time for Loki’s brain to be so … so  _ fucking functionless.  _

Loki pulled himself free of the man’s hold, though admittedly it was stabilizing, and steadied himself by returning his hand to the chair. 

Loki’s, uh,  _ new friend  _ chuckled. “You know, Loki. I definitely see it.”

Mm-hmm. Loki raised his eyebrow—probably. “You see what?” 

“I see,” he continued, taking a step toward Loki, “why our friend the Grandmaster is so fond of you.”

Just who  _ was  _ this man, precisely? Loki only knew that his head hurt.

The man placed one hand on Loki’s chest, looking thoughtfully at where it rested. “It does make you wonder”—he took yet another step closer, pressing Loki against the wall—“why he would leave you here all by yourself.”

Loki felt sick. And it couldn’t just be the drink. He hated this. He hated the dizziness, and he hated how vulnerable this man was making him feel. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to show him why seeking what he was … Well, it was a truly terrible idea. 

But what was Loki supposed to do? He  _ did _ feel nauseated. And the room  _ was _ spinning. And this man’s hand on his chest probably was the reason that he was still standing. And it was funny—in the same pathetic way as Thor’s half-naivety about him—because even if Loki  _ could  _ do anything to this man, he couldn’t be sure of the consequences. For all his attempts to get a measure of the man, Loki had been unable to truly understand what the Grandmaster desired in his behavior. His wants seemed to change with the wind. 

Still. Loki might be thinking through a churning brain, but he knew what the hand sliding down his chest meant. In his efforts to survive until Thor arrived, Loki had been publicly reduced to one of the Grandmaster’s whores.

“Are you still with me?”

Loki swallowed. He nodded. But it sent the dizziness through him again and he managed to stumble, even in this confined space. But his companion was there to catch him, yet again. And Loki felt that there was no point fighting it in the way that he wanted to. He could simply delay for now, in the hope that he wasn’t entertaining enough. 

In this state? He probably wouldn’t be, anyway.

“Hey, hey, and you say you’re alright?” And Loki found himself being straightened again. “Look at you, you poor thing. Left here all by yourself. Look, dear, if  _ I  _ were the Grandmaster, I wouldn’t waste a thing like you. That’s all I’m saying.” 

“Is it?”

“Mm- _ hmm _ .”

The man, slowly, brushed Loki’s hair out of his face. It gave Loki the sudden childish urge to backhand him. But his arms weren’t working. 

“Look at you,” the man continued, his hand slowly sliding down Loki’s torso. “If  _ I  _ were him, I wouldn’t be so careless as to leave you here unattended. If  _ I  _ were him—”

But that was all he managed.

Loki blinked and lost his balance as the man stumbled backward out of nowhere. He felt his head smack against the wall. He pressed his hands against the wall to cling to his balance as his skull clamped and this sizzling noise bounced through the air.

The man in front of Loki was shaking, jerking, in a nonsensical ragdoll dance. He fell to his knees. Then onto his back, his feet folded beneath him. The music stopped. Yet, people carried on as if this wasn’t happening. They had surely seen this, this sight as if the Grandmaster was reprimanding one of his fighters, thousands of times before.

“Now. Hey, hey. Come on. What’s going on here, hm?”

And there was the Grandmaster, emerged from within the crowd as if he had appeared from nowhere. He was flanked by just one guard—thankfully, not Topaz. Perhaps she was still occupied with whatever had drawn the Grandmaster away in the first place. 

Loki was taking in deep breaths, letting them out through clenched teeth. The Grandmaster was the only person who could  _ really  _ make him jump like that. 

The Grandmaster, gnawing at his thumbnail, eyed the man still shaking on the floor. This was no short, sharp shock by obedience disk. This was relentless. And Loki was sure, through his hazed thoughts, that the disk was a fresh attachment. 

Was this man being punished for—? No. No, surely the drink really had got the better of Loki. 

“Uh, hello? Sweetheart?” The Grandmaster crossed the room to the shaking mess on the floor. He stopped, standing above him, and looked down at him with a look of pure, innocent interest. “I believe,” he said, “that I asked you a question.” 

The disk released its victim. The man went limp like his muscles were dead. He stayed there, breathing heavily, but he said nothing. 

“Oh, oh. I see. The silent treatment,” said the Grandmaster. “Well, that’s not very nice, is it? I, uh, I thought we were all friends here. Isn’t that what you said?” 

If the man managed to summon some response, Loki didn’t hear it. His head whirled and he lost his vision. He was sitting on the floor before he realized that he had lost his balance. 

The Grandmaster seemed to be giving a speech. “But since you are, you know, my friend, down there: You got the speech. You remember the speech?” He pointed towards Loki. “We don’t touch. Hm?”

Loki swallowed. He felt really, truly, sick.

“Okay. Well.” The Grandmaster kicked the man twice as if he was patting him on the shoulder. “Good talk. You take a minute there, you risk taker, you. Okay?” 

And with that, he stepped away. Loki could hear the Grandmaster approaching him, but he couldn’t look at him. His eyes were stuck to the man on the floor. Limp. Empty. Staring up at the ceiling with that look Loki knew all too well: That man saw his end on the horizon. 

“Hey, Prince Cheekbones, are you alright down there?”

Loki tried to look up, but there was a strange ache in his neck and it was difficult. When he managed it, finally, he saw the Grandmaster watching him with an … almost academic interest.

In the corner of his vision, Loki saw the man who had just moments ago he so friendly with him twitch, strangely, like an aftershock.

Loki didn’t want to talk. There was still no music. And, yes, everyone’s attention  _ seemed  _ elsewhere, but they could still hear him. He didn’t much fancy being a spectacle. 

The Grandmaster crouched down. Loki blinked. He cleared his throat. He had never seen the Grandmaster do this before. It was the duty of everyone around him to meet the appropriate height. 

“Aww, no. Look at you. The, uh…” The Grandmaster frowned. “Nobody wants to talk to me tonight, huh? Did I do something wrong?”

Out of nowhere, a sharpness had hit his tone. Even in this state, he knew what it meant.

“I’m fine,” he said. With the words came a new, fresh wave of— _ shit _ . He closed his eyes.

“Oh, my clever boy’s not being so clever tonight, hm?” And, ignoring that Loki bristled, “How much have you had to drink?”

Loki forced a smile—but he was convinced that it came out more as a grimace. “Enough.”

“Ah, well. Perhaps you and I should—” He snapped his fingers. “ _ You: Stay.  _ We still need to have our little talk, hm?”

The Sakaaran on the floor rolled into his side, and stilled. A guard took a step toward him as if he was preparing for the man to flee.

Loki tried to find words.  _ Any  _ words. With the Grandmaster looking at him like that, anything had to be better than silence. But he couldn’t think what to say. And he did  _ so _ hate being speechless, but he’d never witnessed the Grandmaster behave  _quite_ in this way. 

“Alright, alright,” said the Grandmaster. He rested a hand on Loki’s shoulder, and it was … it was steadying in a completely different way, now. How unsettling. “You, uh, you just keep breathing for me there, sweetheart.”

That said, the Grandmaster held up his hands. Two guards appeared as if from nowhere and lifted him to his feet. Loki remained a dizzy mess on the floor.

“Now, now,” said the Grandmaster, thoughtfully, resting his hand amicably on a guard’s arm. “What do you think we should do with our pretty little prince here? He looks a little out of sorts.” And, though there was no reaction from the guard, he continued with, “It does make you wonder why my  _ friend _ would take advantage of him.” 

Loki clenched his jaw. He’d certainly avoided being a spectacle, hadn’t he?

With a nod towards Loki, the Grandmaster said to his guard, “You know, I  _ do  _ need to have that, uh, that chat, so”—he patted the guard’s arm—“you take this one home for me, okay?”

Loki found that he was still too weak to argue—and what would be the point in doing so, anyway?—when both guards reached down and grabbed his arms. The music started up again as he was dragged to his feet. It felt his head was on the brink of splitting open. He wished that he could say that he wouldn’t allow himself to be treated like this if he was in a better state. 

He was taken to his chambers, which were dark, and much cooler than the party had been. There, he was pushed to sit on the side of his bed. And left there. There was no chance, however, that the guards went any further than just outside the door. 

Loki took in a deep breath that rattled in his throat, and somehow managed to worsen is ever growing headache. He clutched the sheets with his hands. Was he without dignity if there was no one here to see him? He certainly felt so. He found himself looking at the clear liquid (not water; he hadn’t been given a glass of water since he arrived on Sakaar) sitting in a ludicrously shaped glass on his nightstand, but he didn’t touch it. 

It was strange. It was sickening. He didn’t  _ want  _ to know what to make of what had just happened. And yet.

The Grandmaster had struck that man out of nowhere. He had  _ punished  _ him. Punished him for making advances at Loki. And it was curious. Curious because Loki was still trying to work out the Grandmaster. Was it that he didn’t wish to share a possession? Because as far as Loki could tell, people were nothing else to this man.

He didn’t move at the eventual sound of the door opening, save to close his eyes. He sat taking slow, even breaths as he listened to the approaching footsteps. There was something starkly sobering about being in this dark, cool room. It was like the hangover had already hit him. But at least without the light and the noise he could think a little clearer. 

Loki finally opened his eyes at the feeling of weight beside him. The Grandmaster had taken a seat. Close enough to touch Loki, of course. 

“Aww, now,” said the Grandmaster. He didn’t touch Loki. Just watched him with this strangely gentle smile. “Don’t we feel better?”

Loki tried to raise his eyebrow at the Grandmaster, but he had no idea if he actually managed it. And he was still, as ever, perplexed by the Grandmaster’s behavior.

“You know, there,” said the Grandmaster, “you don’t need to go getting yourself into this state for my amusement. You don’t need to go hurting yourself. That’s what my champions are for.”

Eyes on his knees, Loki nodded. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Aw. No need to apologize.” A moment’s silence, then, “What’s wrong, hm?”

“I’m…” Loki coughed. “I’m dizzy.”

The Grandmaster grinned. He held out his arms. Loki frowned, trying to focus on this, instead of the nausea that had lodged itself in his throat. 

Slowly, the Grandmaster cocked his head at Loki. He had a strange glint of amusement in his eye. And Loki’s head was tearing itself apart now, pain and dizziness beating with his pulse, and so he relented. He rested against the Grandmaster’s chest and let himself be held.

He wished that he didn't feel safe. He wished that he didn’t—

“Is something else wrong? You don’t seem yourself.”

Loki couldn’t imagine how the Grandmaster would know. But, he did have to ask, “That, uh, friendly fellow from before. Did you—?”

“What? No! It’s like I told Topaz, see, you know. No melting at my party.”

Loki closed his eyes again. “Mm-hmm.”

“Why? Did you want me to melt him?”

“No, that’s not necessary,” said Loki. He let out a huff of laughter. “But, I was wondering—”

“I’m just, you know, saying,” said the Grandmaster quickly, “that I didn’t want to keep you in there if you weren’t having fun. I like my friends to have fun, hm? And I  _ don’t  _ like them to, uh, overstay their welcome.”

Well, that was definitely interesting. 

“He was certainly … friendly,” Loki tried. 

The Grandmaster—hm—tightened his grip on Loki. “Yeah. Uh huh. I could … I could see that, there, gorgeous. But you didn’t look like you were enjoying his company all that much.” He pulled away, holding Loki steady by his shoulder. “Am I right?”

“Why?” asked Loki, forcing himself not to close his eyes at another spell of dizziness. “Did you not want him to be friendly? I am, as you say”—he smiled—“gorgeous.”

“Well, you don’t have to tell me that,” said the Grandmaster. He pressed a feather-light kiss to Loki’s cheek, a surreal experience that Loki had never before had with this man. “But  _ you _ , as I’m sure you’re smart enough to know, are mine.”

And there it was.

In that last sentence came the stern tone that Loki had come to recognize as preceding a reprimand. As an indication that one was pushing one’s luck. And, as he spoke, the Grandmaster let go of Loki’s shoulder and put his hand on Loki’s knee—firmly.

“Hello?” he prompted.

Loki nodded. “Yes, Grandmaster. I…” He leaned against the man like he was desperate for his touch. And perhaps, in a strange way, he was. Eyes closed again, he murmured, “I’m all yours.”

“That you are. It does so hurt me, to think that my friends want to take what’s mine, you know?”

Suddenly, his demeanor changed. It was as if he became a chipper businessman. He patted Loki’s knee and stood so quickly that Loki fell forward, having to catch himself against the bed.

“Now,” said the Grandmaster. He seemed distracted, eyes on the door. “I still have a party to attend, but  _ you  _ look like you could do with some rest. So why don’t you lie down here and ... I’ll need you back tomorrow, know know, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, by—Ooh.” He frowned. “Mid-afternoon, by the state of you. Can you do that for me?”

Loki nodded, once. “Yes, Grandmaster.”

“Good boy.”

The Grandmaster patted his head (Loki wanted to be irritated, but found that he wasn’t) and departed, leaving Loki alone in the dark. And Loki did lie down, right then, right there, without changing or even removing any clothing. He closed his eyes, breathing to the beat of his strange surging headache.

Somehow, and he did curse himself for it, he was still confused. After all that he had to be convinced that, upon seeing the way that man was interacting with Loki, the Grandmaster had been jealous. The punishment hadn’t ceased when Loki was removed. But jealousy seemed a strange creature in the Grandmaster. It seemed born out of a desire that nobody else touch his toys. And if that was all that Loki was to be, then…

No, Thor wasn’t here. But, by Asgard, if he didn’t hurry up then Loki might just leave him to the Grandmaster’s fancy when he finally arrived.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments give life.
> 
>  
> 
> [librariankiss.tumblr.com](http://librariankiss.tumblr.com/)


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